


Like the Ocean Needs the Moon

by yeahinoticed



Category: Power Rangers (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pirate, F/F, POV Alternating, POV Third Person Limited, pirate adventures with the gang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23617687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeahinoticed/pseuds/yeahinoticed
Summary: Perhaps they were fated to meet, or maybe it was simply chance. Either way, there was no turning back. Their story was an inevitability - its movements as sure as the tides themselves.A Pirate AU wherein Trini is a notorious pirate captain, and Kimberly just wants to be free.
Relationships: Kimberly Hart/Trini
Comments: 9
Kudos: 51





	1. Of Manors and Manners

She had never expected to be here. Though Zack’s plans were wild to be sure, she had to concede that more often than not, they _worked_ . Still, she’d rather it was him in her place. But as great a strategist as he was, Zack was _terrible_ at keeping his cool. His excitement was likely to get the better of him, and if it happened here, it would spell the end of their careers - and most probably their lives. They just couldn’t risk it. Trini fiddles with the gaudy looking brooch pinned to her lapel. It looks like any other - a brassy little trinket engraved with a crown, vibrant red gemstone studded proudly in its centre. They’d picked it up in Havana last year, not long after their first success. Trini had been adamantly against spending their newfound gold on such frivolous things, but Zack would insist it was a token of celebration, a small purchase he’d treasure forever. It was hard to say no to such blinding enthusiasm, so she’d simply rolled her eyes and turned away, which he’d _obviously_ taken as approval. Trini thought he’d get bored of it and sell it at the next port for some other shiny thing, but true to his word he’d held on to it, and the cocky grin he’d worn when brandishing it at her this morning had her reconsidering their partnership. Nevertheless, it was becoming useful now, so she supposed she couldn’t _really_ fault him. 

She’d always thought such things were kind of tacky. Blatant shows of wealth and title weren’t really her style. They make you stand out. And in her line of work, standing out makes things a whole lot harder. Yet here she is, clad head to toe in a flashy formal ensemble. The mustard coat, the breeches, the stockings, the _dastardly_ wig and feathered hat - the whole lot. The frills of her shirt tickle her neck and hands, a constant irritation in the back of her mind even as she peers up at the garish manor before her. Rendered cream walls, framed by extravagant trimming reflect the midday sun so brightly that they almost glow. The dark gravel path up to the manor is edged with smooth stones, dividing it from verdant garden beds which are somehow both calculated and unruly at the same time. At the base of the path, two uniformed guards flank an ornamental wrought iron gate. Its bars twist intricately to resemble thorned roses, and its top edge is studded with spikes. They glare at her, suspicion evident in their faces, hands gripping their rifles ever so slightly harder - imperceptible to an untrained eye. She understands their wariness - while her linen garments give the impression of status, she isn’t their typical wearer - no woman is. Trini might be accustomed to the blade, but it was time to put her sharp tongue to use.

“State your business ma’am”.

“Isn’t it quite obvious, good sir?” she replies. The accent doesn’t come easily to her, and if the guards notice, they give no indication of it.

The one who had spoken looks to his comrade, visibly apprehensive. It was a difficult situation for him. If he gave the wrong person trouble, he’d be out of a job before evening. Yet he couldn’t simply stand aside, for then he wouldn’t be doing his job at all. He hadn’t signed up for such dilemmas. He sighs. 

“Your invitation?”.

“This is all hardly necessary” Trini remarks as she slips the folded letter from her inner breast pocket. The guard scans it over, thumbing the seal that identifies its sender. When he scans it a second time, his eyebrow quirks.

“Forgive me ma’am, but you don’t quite look like an ‘Oliver’ to me”. His partner scoffs at this, before clearing his throat and making to smooth the collar of his regimental red coat, directing his gaze somewhere in the distance. Trini replies without missing a beat.

“My father was quite set on the name before I was even born. Though I do wish someone had talked him out of it, I don’t very well mind being named after my grandfather”.

The guard squints at her, before his frown eases in thought. Her reasoning wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility. 

“Very well, Miss Bennett. I’m sure Governor Hart will be glad for your arrival. I apologise for the inconvenience. I do hope you enjoy the party.”

At the guards nod, Trini makes her way through the gate. 

“It’s quite alright, I get it all the time”. 

\---

As she steps into the main hall, Trini is struck by the atmosphere. A low chatter echoes off the stone floors, intermittently joined by the soft clanking of cutlery. She can still hear the familiar whispers of the ocean in the distance, beckoning her back sweetly. Around her, the guests are dressed much the same as she is. They converse with false smiles, many holding silver goblets filled with what she can only assume is a fine wine. A guard stands at the foot of the main stairs, rifle up against his shoulder. She passes another who stands at the entrance to the dining room. There were more than she thought there would be. How bothersome. She isn’t two steps into the room when the idle noises of the manor are joined by the gentle moan of a violin. A grand wooden dining table is set against the main window, adorned with an assortment of food, though she’s sure it normally resides front and centre. As tempting as it looks, it's not what Trini is here for. She lets out a quiet chuckle. Zack would’ve been right squiffy by the day's end, if he’d come along. The people in the room begin to pair up, swaying slowly to the violin’s song. While she’d prefer not to partake, she’s sure to arouse suspicion just standing here - and she’s not sure she could hold a _real_ conversation without giving herself away. 

Trini glances around the room. Standing by one of the large windows is a woman in a silken, rose coloured dress. She’s strikingly beautiful, with her dark brown hair in an elegant updo. It catches the afternoon light in a way that steals Trini’s breath for a moment. She’s about to look away, find someone else, when the woman turns, meeting her eyes. After a pause, the stranger smiles faintly, tilting her head in silent questioning. Rats. With one deep breath, Trini slips back into her persona. It was time to dance. 

\---

Kimberly Hart has attended many a party in her twenty three years. Her father’s parties, his friends' parties, his _enemies'_ parties. It was expected of her really. Don a pretty dress, be receptive (but not too receptive) to her potential suitors. Gossip idly with girls who have far too much time on her hands. She didn’t mind it, most of the time. She had to admit though, it _could_ get a little boring. This was her father’s third ‘dance’ of the year and it was only February. He had to keep up appearances of course. How else would his peers know of Port Royal’s thriving trade if he did not celebrate it with fine wine and finer appearances. Even so, Kimberly could only tolerate the advances of so many men. Nobles, with promises of glamour and comfort back in the motherland. Merchant sailors who weave tales of wealth and adventure that seem just a little too crafted to be true. Naval captains who think their pride and ranking should have her swooning at their feet with nary another word. Every so often, there’d be one or two who would have her attention. Whose silk tongues and vibrant eyes would draw her in, if only momentarily. But she’d find soon enough that her biting wit was never appreciated for long, and the smooth talking would always give way to frustration. It seemed she was simply a prize to be won, a hill to be conquered. Bragging rights. Quite frankly, she was sick of it.

And so, Kimberly finds herself standing by the front window of the dining room, eyes ensnared by the gentle ebb and flow of the waves upon the beach. Her mother used to tell her stories of the ocean - stories far grander, far more fascinating than those of her suitors. Stories of sleepless nights in raging storms. Of brilliant new lands and people and creatures. Of days spent in song and nights spent in stupor. She’d always wondered what it was like out there, beyond the confines of her father’s estate and everything it represented. Would she go? If given the chance? The thought is at the forefront of her mind when she feels the familiar pressure of a set of eyes, trying and failing to be inconspicuous. Turning quickly she seeks them out, finding a woman who seems _just_ out of place. She’s wearing an embroidered suit, woven linen in a yellow far too green. The hair of her grey wig is pulled into a ponytail beneath her feathered tricorne. Her attire is interesting, yes, but Kimberly does not recognise her. She recognises most of her father’s guests. She feels her lips twitch upwards at the woman, holding her gaze from across the room. 

Something flashes across her watcher’s face, gone too quickly to identify. The woman strides towards her, light on her feet. There's a vague slant to her hips, an unfamiliar _swagger_ that Kimberly thinks might betray some unknown truth. What secrets were held in her small frame? She presents her hand, palm upturned. “May I have this dance?”.

Kimberly takes her hand, finds it unexpectedly rough and calloused, but gentle. As if their union was a cue, the music picks up, the rest of the band joining the violin as its pace hastens. They begin to dance a casual rigaudon, Kimberly following the stranger’s lead. She waits for her partner to address her, watches her eyes flick about the room. They’ve stepped around each other three times before Kimberly breaks the silence. “The strong silent type then?” 

As if only just remembering where she was, the woman’s eyes snap towards her. Her brows knit together. “Pardon?”.

This was unusual. Kimberly’s suitors would usually rush to fill silences, trying desperately to keep her eyes upon them. It seems her current partner barely cares for her existence. “You haven’t spoken a word to me since you asked me to dance”. She’s surprised at the venom that laces her words - it hadn’t been intentional.

“I’m quite sorry madam”. With a turn, they dance in the reverse direction. “I was simply admiring the Governor’s manor. It’s quite beautiful. Have you been here before?” 

Kimberly almost stops dancing. She searches the other woman’s face for any sign of jest, finding nothing but honesty and vague inattention. It was absurd to think a guest to this party would not know her name, though she supposes it _could_ be possible. Her irritation fades quickly, replaced by a mounting curiosity. “My family is close to the Governor’s”, she lies. 

Her partner’s only response is an idle hum. 

With their next step, Kimberly’s eyebrow quirks. She pulls the woman into a twirl under her arm. “And you are?” she inquires.

Seemingly startled by the movement, the other woman stumbles slightly, before regaining her footing and resuming their dance. “Bennett. Oliver Bennett”, she replies firmly. Pulling Kimberly into a twirl of her own, she smirks. “Merchant extraordinaire”.

Kimberly mulls the name over. Oliver Bennett. It sounded vaguely familiar, but any recognition she might have had was fleeting - as out of reach as a feather in the breeze. Though the woman had said it quite confidently, it had a strange sort of inflection. In fact, now that Kimberly thought about it, the woman’s accent was unfamiliar. It sounded vaguely English, but her words were more rounded, had a rich and intriguing depth to them, like they were dripping with such experience that it bled into their very sound. Kimberly’s stomach dips in a way she’s sure could be addicting. She returns her attention to Miss Bennett, only to find that her eyes are once again fixed elsewhere. She follows her gaze, finds it trained on the staircase in the entry hall. With a tilt of her head, Kimberly drapes an arm over her partner’s shoulder, pulling her closer with every step. “Extraordinaire, hmm?”.

The woman drags her eyes back to Kimberly’s and holds them there for a long moment. Her smile turns upwards. “You sound surprised, Miss…”

“Clarke”, Kimberly supplies, flinching internally. It had been the first name to enter her mind. She banishes the thoughts that surround it. Not now. “It's not every day I meet a woman merchant” she admits. “You’ve piqued my interest Miss Bennett”. 

Though it seems the other woman’s attention is now firmly upon her, Kimberly makes no move to increase the distance between them again. This close, she can see the depths of colour within the other woman’s eyes, reflecting the light of the setting sun. They glint with unspoken secrets, not unlike the pieces of foreign jewelry often brought by traders upon the tide. Promises of a world much larger than anything Kimberly had experienced. 

“Some would say my methods are...unconventional”. The merchant’s words bring her out of her reverie. They serve only to deepen her curiosity.

“However do you mean?” Kimberly presses. 

“Trade secrets, Miss Clarke - I can’t simply give them away”, she replies with a wink. “But I have to be smart you see”. Another twirl brings their faces impossibly close together, and she whispers her next words carefully. “There are _pirates_ out there you know”. 

Kimberly is about to press further, when the sharp ringing of the town bell cuts through the manor, signalling another day’s end. The music begins to fade and the woman detaches and spins away from her with a sly smile, disappearing amongst the meandering throng of people moving from the dining room into the entrance hall. She scans the small crowd, but any traces of the woman’s yellow coat and devious grin are gone as swiftly as they had come. It's only once she turns back to the window that Kimberly notices how fast her heart is beating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my first attempt at like...writing fic. i hope someone enjoys reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it


	2. Escapes

When Trini returns to the Sabertooth, she finds Zack directing the crew as they load her up with supplies. She pauses at the beginning of the docks, deciding instead to watch from a distance. She needed to think. It's not hard to find a stack of crates to settle on, and she does so with a sigh. Behind the Sabertooth, the sun has begun its descent below the horizon, framing the brig in rose gold glow. Trini admires the way the light edges the carved wooden figurehead - a huge, fanged cat, baring its teeth in a perpetual snarl. Its back arches along the ship’s bow, body poised as if leaping from the water. Though at first the ornament had made many of her sailors uncomfortable, it had grown to be as much a part of the crew as any of them. She smiles. She’d had it commissioned eight months ago, in Barbuda, when things had really started picking up. 

They’d stopped there to repair and resupply, with plans to return to Havana and sell some questionably obtained sugar stores. But what was meant to be a quick in and out had turned into a week of merry drinking with the town in their tiny tavern. She’d been surprised to learn about the small port. Their governor had been absent at the time, but Trini and her crew were told countless tales of the man. A former English privateer by the name of Don Eltar who was hardened but generous. Much of the town were ex-slaves he had himself freed, to the annoyance of his superiors. It was supposedly why they’d taken him off the seas and stationed him on the somewhat forgotten island - a skillset too valuable to let go, but a heart too kind to leave free. Trini was sure there was more to the tale than that, but her path had not crossed with the Governor’s since, and so she was left in wonder. She sighs at the memory. The Tooth hadn’t had black sails then, but she suspects the townspeople had known of their enterprises all the same. The extra sugar she had decided to drop off to lighten the ship’s load probably hadn’t hurt in softening their reception. 

It was on one of those warm nights that Trini had met Alfred Finnings - one of the Governor’s closest friends. A skilled carpenter, he’d offered to carve them a figurehead in return for the sugar, and Zack had no trouble convincing her to accept. They traded stories about their times on the ocean, and in the week that Finnings had worked for them, they’d formed a bond that Trini knew was rare in times like these. When Zack and Trini had asked him to join their crew, the tawny haired man had simply given them a secretive smile, as if he knew exactly what their future held, stating that his place was there in Barbuda, but they were welcome to return any time. Trini’s smile fades a little at the memory of his words. They hadn’t returned there since. Trini and her crew had been busy making a name for themselves, and Barbuda just hadn't been in the charts. Tensions around the Leeward Islands were mounting now - visiting would be difficult with her reputation. Difficult, she thinks, but not impossible.

Trini shakes her head to free it of the thoughts. There was a task at hand to focus on. A long sigh is dragged from her lips. This afternoon had been spectacularly useless. She fiddles with one of her frilled sleeves. A _month_ of practicing dancing, accents and etiquette, and all she had to show for it was a vague idea of where the _stairs_ were. She could have guessed that! Trini drags a hand down her face. She was going to have to go in blind. 

“How’d it go cap?”

She stiffens for only a split second, recognising the voice immediately. Zack has relieved himself of his duties and is perched on one of the many knotted stumps rising from the water in front of her. She must admit that his lopsided grin somewhat soothes her frustrations. “Terribly,” she huffs out. 

“What? What do you mean it went terribly?” he half yelps, launching off the stump to land on the dock. He flops down next to her, ignoring the fact that there was barely enough room for the both of them. “Did you figure out where it is?”

“Zack,” she starts, turning her head to look him in the eyes. “If I had figured out where it is, why would I say it went terribly?”

“Well that’s no good,” Zack points out.

“You don’t say, Captain Columbus.”

“Did you get the room then?” he asks.

“Nope.”

“General part of the house?”

“It's a manor Zack - it's huge,” she replies.

“So…?”

“Nope.”

“Upstairs or downstairs?” he tries.

“Not a clue mate.”

They both sigh then, slumping back together to gaze at the darkening sky. The first few stars are emerging from the azure blanket above, glittering brightly to remind them that there are treasures far more unreachable than the one they’re after. 

After a few minutes, Zack pipes up again. “Did ye get to dance at least?”

All Trini can do is laugh. 

\---

Kimberly has always been a light sleeper. Even when she was a girl, the slightest bump in the night would have her rushing to her mother's side, begging to stay close. Her parents had said she had an overactive imagination. She stifles the urge to scoff - her 'imagination' was definitely not at play here. 

Not three metres in front of her, a shadowed figure is padding their way lightly across her bedroom. Kimberly stays perfectly still, making no indication of her wakefulness. It's difficult to keep her breaths slow and even when every chord in her body is screaming at her to hold them. The figure stops at her door, before sneaking out of the room as silently as they'd appeared. Kimberly lets out a long exhale. She sits up in her bed. The sheer curtains of her bay window are fluttering lightly in the evening breeze, moonlight intertwining with each fold. The intruder hadn’t even been kind enough to close it after themselves. She rolls out of bed, pulling her comforter around herself and trotting to the window. Below, there is nothing but the gentle rustle of leaves and the insistent chirping of crickets. She glances at the front gate. It appears to be locked, but the guard is fast asleep. With a shake of her head, Kimberly turns back towards her bedroom door. Their impromptu visitor had left it slightly ajar. 

She creeps forward and looks through the sliver between it and the frame. Across the upstairs landing, shadows dance under the door to her father’s study. Kimberly holds her breath. She isn’t sure for how long. 

Ever so faintly, she hears the click of a distant window opening. After waiting for what feels like an eternity, she walks out of her bedroom, watching the study door for any signs of movement. There are none, so she pushes it open slowly, peering into the room with a mix of trepidation and excitement brewing in her stomach. The window on the far side of the room is wide open, still swinging with the wind. The mysterious figure’s manners were terrible, Kimberly thinks, as she rounds her father’s desk, still swathed in her comforter. Upon it is a small, ornamental wooden chest, left open and empty. Kimberly recognises it as the one that usually sits front and centre on his bookshelf, which, glancing at it now, seems otherwise untouched. She slides her eyes back to the chest. In front of it, a single yellow rose is sitting on the smooth mahogany tabletop, petals trembling in the breeze.

Kimberly brings the rose to her face, careful to avoid its thorns, inhaling its sweet scent deeply. She knew who had left it. Had heard tales of a wild, vicious captain - a ‘thorn’ in the side of the British Navy. And every other navy. A pirate. Bold and conniving - danger to all who sailed the seven seas. 

Amarillo.

\---

“Am I great? Or am I great?” Trini smirks, dangling her quarry by its chain as she stands triumphantly on the Sabertooth’s dark wooden rail. 

“You’re back!” Zack exclaims, whirling around from where he’d been helping a younger crew member re-rig the trysail. Though the night is chilly, he’s clad in his usual garb - simple black frock coat with the sleeves torn off - left open, of course. As expected, he wasn’t wearing a shirt, with his tan waist sash wrapped directly against his skin, its tail end brushing against baggy black breeches. He jogs towards her, tilting his head. “That was fast.” 

“I work efficiently,” Trini replies as she hops down, watching the aforementioned youngster tangle themselves up in the rope, slip off the spar, and promptly dangle there by one leg. “You however, clearly do not. What in Neptune’s name is going on here?”

“H-hi captain!,” the boy croaks out, face reddening with every strained breath. 

Trini raises her eyebrow, gesturing in his direction. “Somebody get him down please.” She turns back to Zack, a hand on one cocked hip. “Please tell me everything else is going better than that display”. 

“Of course it is! Kid’s a street rat we picked up last month. I was just… showing him the ropes,” Zack replies, wiggling his eyebrows. “The supplies from this afternoon are set in the hold, and the rest of the sails should be ready to go…”

“Out with it Zack.”

He lets out a sigh. “A couple of the men went drinking today while you were scouting the manor.” 

“...okay” Trini replies.

“They haven't come back.”

Trini stares at him. Waits for him to elaborate. When it's clear he has no further explanation, she turns to watch the rest of the crew, leaning on the handrail at the front of the quarterdeck. “I wanted to put as much distance between us and the Governor as possible.”

“I know.” Zack sighs. 

“They just had to be back by midnight.”

“Aye, I told them as much.”

Trini watches her crew work. The sails had certainly been rigged, ready to be unfurled at her command. A couple of sailors were cleaning the cannons on the main deck, and she’s sure more are doing the same below. Various crewmen appear and disappear through the hatch that leads into the brig’s belly. She knows that some of her crew are more dedicated than others, but she tries to see the best in all of them. They’d been through hell together after all.

“We wait until dawn,” she decides.

\---

Frigid air nips at Kimberly’s ears and nose, leaving trails of goose skin down her arms. It fills her lungs, burns in a way that makes her feel like she’s suffocating with every breath. She glances back at the manor. Was she making a mistake? A cry from the docks reminds her that her time is short. She hurries down the pebbled path that leads there, steps awkward as she tries to get accustomed to the boots she’d stolen. She’d wanted to grab a coat, but sneaking into the servant’s quarters would have been too difficult, and her father’s own were much too flashy. She tugs on the sleeves of her simple white tunic, finding that the action only serves to let more cold air underneath to rush over her skin. She breathes in sharply at the contact. The only point of warmth is at her waist, where the tunic tucks into a pair of dark brown linen trousers. 

When she arrives at the docks, she sneaks around the outer edge, crouching in the shadows behind a stack of weathered crates. She watches as sailors move around the deck of a large ship. It's smaller than her father’s own, but Kimberly thinks it has much more charm. All dark timber and gold trimming, it bathes in the moonlight, rising and falling gently with the quiet waves lapping at the shoreline. Silver rays catch the sharp edges of a carved figurehead, its eyes glaring straight ahead and its pointed teeth locked in a vicious snarl. This time, Kimberly’s shiver isn’t from the cold. It wasn’t too late for her back out. She could go back to the manor. Alert her father. Be safe, and _warm._

She knows she can’t convince herself. The curiosity in her soul tugs her forward, to the edge of the dock. She gazes down at her reflection in the water. She almost doesn’t recognise herself. Underneath a worn leather hat, long dark hair tickles her neck, a lock falling across her face to obstruct her view. Kimberly’s lips draw into a smirk. Quietly, she unsheathes her father’s rapier from its place on her hip. 

\---

When the sun rises in the morning, it is to the sound of desperate cries and furious yelling. A distraught Theodore Hart finds his daughter missing, and the calling card of a _pirate_ upon his desk. His men are gathered quickly, rushing down to the docks in a mess of red coats and cocked guns. When they arrive, they watch helplessly as their target takes a scimitar to the last dock line, severing it in one fell cut, releasing her ship to the wind. She stands on the rail and flips her tricorne off of her head, holding it in one hand as she dips into an exaggerated bow. 

“A pleasure doing business with ye gentlemen!” she sings, before turning on her heel and hopping down, yellow coat fluttering behind her. 

Governor Hart orders the men onto his own vessel, a large frigate, dressed in Royal Navy colours. At his command, they untie the dock lines and drop the sails, only to find that each one sports a hideous gash which splits it in two. Ahead of them, the pirate brig unfurls its own sails with a flourish. When it had cruised into Port Royal two days ago, they were a plain white, the same as any common merchant’s vessel. But they had been switched. Tattered and black, emblazoned with the golden silhouette of a cat’s head, they stretch with the wind, carrying the brig swiftly out to sea. 

The governor, unable to follow, watches it go, feeling his entire world crumble around him. 

Neither he nor Amarillo notice the figure who stands quietly against the foremast, leather sailor’s hat pulled low - eyes hidden, but full of excitement. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stuff is happening! writing does not come easily to me but i'm kinda just seeing where it goes. in any case i hope this chapter was somewhat enjoyable for someone.


End file.
